The Octopod Police
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Plucky Pennywhistle's Magic Menagerie tag: Dean's job wasn't quite finished yet.


**The Octopod Police**  
K Hanna Korossy

Dean blinked into the sunbeam that fell across his face. One groggy moment as memory clicked back into place, then he immediately turned to check on Sam.

Little brother was still sleeping on his side in the other bed, snoring through a blood-congested nose. Dean's mouth ticked up at the sight, then he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Sam had been kind of a mess the night before, Dean thought ruefully as he brushed the fuzz from his teeth. Besides the glitter—which, man, he'd be washing out of their stuff for the next week—the two clowns that had attacked Sam, real or not, had inflicted some pretty impressive damage. By the time they reached the motel, Sam had stiffened up so badly, Dean had to help him out of the car.

He'd felt a little bad for laughing at Sam once he saw him with his shirt off. Sam had a—comically oversized and bulbous—footprint under his ribs on one side, and a deep black spot over his gut that had Dean doing an internal-bleeding check. It had been left by a wrench, his brother had wearily informed him and, yeah, Dean didn't feel at all like laughing at that point. Sam's back was a mass of bruises and a few cuts with glass in them: windshield. His cheek was swollen enough that Dean thought maybe the bone was cracked, a tooth was loose, and his nose looked busted even though it had somehow escaped intact.

Yeah, hilarious, Dean thought sourly as he wiped his mouth.

But Sam had been a trooper, philosophical about being beaten up by his worst nightmare, grimacing through Dean's treatment and gentle ribbing, and demanding an egg sandwich when he woke up, which, fair enough. Dean hadn't tried to swallow the fond smile when Sam fell asleep grumbling about Ronald McDonald's evil cousins.

Oddly enough, Sam-battery aside, this had been the kind of lighter job they needed. Killer unicorns and robots? Sam looking like he'd come from a rave gone wrong? And a freakin' cool Slinkie? Dean tried not to grin now just thinking about it as he shaved. Sam hadn't mentioned Lucifer once, and Dean hadn't laughed like that in...a really long time. Definitely not since Bobby. And even as the reminder tugged the corner of his lips down, it didn't fill him with blackness like it usually did.

Dean studied his face as he buttoned up his shirt. He didn't seem different, did he? Old eyes, a few lines, a look that had combat vets treating him like one of their own. He didn't see the history of his losses in his features, but neither did he see the kid who'd once thought this was the life. Dean snorted softly over the knot he was tying in his tie. That kid had probably died with Dad, if not earlier. Ancient history. Like Ness and Frank had each told him in their own way, he had to move on.

Back out in the room, Sam muttered something in his sleep.

Dean stepped out to check, but Sam had already settled and slept on. He'd rolled half onto his back, and Dean crossed to the bed to nudge him back on his side and tug out the melted ice packs. He'd refreshed them twice during the night; that was enough. Sam sighed something that might have been a "Thanks, Dean" with half the letters missing as Dean laid the heating pad over his middle and turned it on.

Dean shook his head, double-checked the phone and meds and water on the nightstand, then grabbed his gun to slip inside his jacket.

"Sleep tight, Sam," he murmured, and left.

It was a bright and clear morning, and Dean drove carefully around groups of children walking to schools and bus stops. He got to the Harper house right on time and found Stacey the nanny waiting, just as he'd discussed with her the night before. She smiled and welcomed him in, leading him into the kitchen.

Kelly stopped poking at her cereal when she saw him, her too-serious eyes widening.

He smiled at her, the sincere smile that only came easily now with kids and sometimes Sam, and sat in the chair beside her so he wouldn't loom. "Hello, Kelly."

Her gaze darted to the nanny for permission. "Hello," she said quietly.

"Do you remember me? I was here before with my partner?"

"You're the policeman."

He glanced at Stacey, then back at her. "That's right. But, you know, I'm a special kind of policeman."

She looked at him doubtfully, one hand clutching the bear he just now noticed in her lap. "You are?"

He wasn't even really lying. "Yes, I am. Me and my partner—you know, the giant you talked to?" He got a little smile for that. He grinned back; that didn't get old. "We actually catch monsters, not bad guys."

She stiffened, grief falling like a veil over his face. He knew that look too well.

Another glance up at Stacey, who nodded an encouragement to him, and he leaned in toward the little girl. "And I wanted you to know, we caught the monster in your closet that attacked your dad. You're never gonna see it again."

She was just old enough to know adults didn't usually believe in monsters, but maybe seeing her dad killed by one made her more accepting. He watched her struggle with it, then blossom in cautious hope. "You did? You promise?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes, I do. It's not gonna hurt anyone ever again."

"Okay."

"Okay. You're a brave girl, Kelly, you know that? And maybe some people won't believe you saw a monster, but you and me, we know you did."

"Okay," she said a little more strongly.

He smiled at her, encouraged when she smiled back a little. Poor kid would probably still end up in therapy someday, but at least she wouldn't grow up scared of every closet. He hoped.

Dean stood, giving Stacey a distracted nod. "Ladies." He smiled once more at Kelly, and walked out as authoritatively as he could manage.

Of course, a minute later he noticed in the rear view mirror that he had some glitter on his cheek. But maybe that had just made Kelly trust him all the more. And maybe that was what Stacey had really been smiling at.

With a roll of the eyes and swipe of his face, Dean peeled away from the sidewalk. He had one more stop to make, with a little detour on the way.

He hadn't had make-believe fears as a kid, as far as he could remember. Having lost his mom in a fire and then watched his dad become a monster-hunter, Dean had plenty of real things to fear. Mostly, he'd been worried about losing Sam or their dad; the cause didn't matter so much. That was what truly terrified him.

But Sam hadn't known about monsters until he was nine, and didn't remember their mom. He'd had the freedom to invent things to be scared of. Dean had asked him several times why it was clowns, but it was only the day before that Sam had finally answered him.

 _"I don't know. You let me watch_ It _when I was five—that scared the crap out of me. And there was that Jimmy Stewart movie with the murdering clown..."_

 _"What? Wait..._ The Greatest Show on Earth _? Seriously, Sam?"_

 _"Shut up, that was, like, a real person killer, even if he wasn't evil. And...I don't know. Georgie was the little brother."_

It had taken him a moment to make sense of that. Georgie—the kid from _It_ whom the clown ripped to pieces. He _had_ been a little brother. And his death would haunt his big brother Bill throughout the movie.

Dean hadn't asked any more. Maybe some fears were better left unexplored.

After finding what he wanted at the local bookstore, he headed back out to the suburbs.

Parked in front of the house, he chewed his lip a moment. Then he scrawled on the card: _To Tyler – some robots are actually pretty cool, dude_. Dean stuck the card inside the front of the robot book and left it propped against the front door. Mission accomplished.

Sam would need another day or two before he could comfortably travel, but now they could spend it watching old movies and eating pizza. Dean's credit cards were for Smiths and Petersons and Jones' now, and with Baby in mothballs for the time being, there shouldn't be anything to tip the Leviathans off to their presence. Dean headed back to the motel, feeling the magnetic pull to his brother.

Maybe they could stay someplace with stairs next; he really wanted to try out his new Slinkie. The Tiki room they were in was starting to really creep him out, anyway. Maybe someplace on the way to Frank's, in case the hacker came up with something. Between the clowns and the hallucinations, Sam looked like he could use a good night's sleep or ten, and Dean was still trying not to dream about Emma pleading for his help before Sam shot her. He clenched his jaw and turned up the music.

A left, and he found himself back on the road Plucky's was on. Dean slowed at the sight of the lot full of emergency vehicles. They'd found Howard, then. For once, Dean had left the scene almost exactly as he'd found it—minus one dangerous old book—knowing Howard's hoodoo set-up would speak for itself. His death would be unexplained, but his culpability would be clear. Another guy who couldn't get over a dead brother; Dean grimaced at the memory of the kid's spirit coming back to punish his sibling, and drove on.

There was so much in the world he couldn't fix. Loved ones he'd lost. Loved ones others had lost. Mistakes and lapses and poor judgments. Sam's head.

Dean rolled the tension out of his shoulders, tapping on the steering wheel. At least he stopped bad things so they couldn't keep killing, and saved the world from dying ugly a couple of times. Most importantly, he was a big brother. And clowns or robots or octopusses—octo-pie?—or hallucinations of the devil: he would face it all down to protect the kids. Even when they weren't his own. Even when they were in a gigantic body with girl hair. When everything else was gone, that still gave him purpose and clarity.

Nodding, he pulled off his tie and tossed it into Sam's seat. Any luck, the guy would be up when Dean got back and they could put a movie on. Dean had a hankering to watch _It_ again. He grinned at the thought.

He just needed to stop and pick up a couple of egg sandwiches first.

 **The End**


End file.
